Imprisoned
by Stacey James
Summary: Jack undercover in prison, infiltrates a gang, which leads him who knows where
1. Default Chapter

The baseball bat connected with his kidneys the minute Jack entered the room. The attack surprised him and he grunted as his knees buckled beneath him. He reached out to the wall at his side to gain some support. He avoided falling to the floor but he didn't turn around. He couldn't fight back against the armed guards and, anyway, he didn't want to give them the pleasure of seeing his face screwed up in pain. He heard the sound of the footsteps receding as his captors left him alone, and then a loud clang as they closed the heavy prison door behind them. He slid down the wall into a more comfortable crouching position to nurse his injuries and look around his cell.  
  
'It's clean enough if lacking in home comforts' he mused. It would be his home for 4 weeks until the date of his trial and he had that long to infiltrate the group of three bombers thought to be guilty of the recent infamous campaign of terror. He would get his first chance in 30 minutes time when he'd been told that there was a one hour exercise period. He needed to get himself a high profile within the prison community and he needed to do it quickly. He had decided before he entered the prison that his best chance would be to pick a fight with a previously identified aggressive prisoner who had established a leadership role within the prison community. Jack had seen him fight and knew it wouldn't be straightforward. He was strong and much bigger than Jack but technically unimaginative and Jack thought it should be over fairly quickly. He didn't intend to start his undercover period with too many injuries. But then, he hadn't counted on his painful initiation at the hands of the prison guards. His undercover story had obviously been written very colourfully and they had decided that he should be taught a lesson in submission. To save himself the pain, he had wanted to submit but he knew he was being watched by other prisoners and that his reputation depended on his stoicism. The three guards had kicked him about a bit and then shown him the branding iron.  
  
'Kiss my feet arsehole' the guard in charge had said and his colleague had walked up behind Jack and forced him to his knees with a hefty crack of his rifle on Jack's neck. He winced again and gingerly moved his head from side to side, assessing the lasting effects of the attack as he remembered what had happened next. He had looked up from his hands and knees position and replied quite simply, 'Fuck you'.  
  
'No thanks arsehole' the guard replied. 'You know what happens in this prison arsehole? Mouthy prisoners like you get branded. Now you wouldn't want that would you?' He snarled menacingly. 'So you'd better change your little mind hadn't you? Kiss my fucking feet or I'll make you fucking scream'  
  
Jack stood up, crossed his arms and stared back at him –'I don't think so 'he said simply. 'Do what you like' he added with a dismissive shrug. The number of prisoners watching the exchange had increased and they jostled for a better view through the top half of the window. Jack took his shirt off as he was ordered, his wife beater hiding the scars of his torture two years earlier. The guard put the brand, shaped with the prison symbol, into the fire. So – another tattoo – Jack mused, and he concentrated on the rhythm of his breathing to disguise his apprehension. He knew better than most how much this would hurt but he felt confident that he could handle it. He knew too that it could only help his reputation amongst the inmates and so accelerate his integration. The guard brought the brand up to Jack's face, so that he could feel its searing heat before it burnt into him. Beads of sweat formed on his face but he stared back stonily. He gasped noisily as the brand was brought down on the top of his left arm, his shallow breathing quickened and his face muscles revealed his fight against the pain, but he held the glare of the guard and saw in his eyes the frustration of failure. And so he had entered the prison community. 


	2. Fighting for supremacy

The siren which sounded for the exercise period woke Jack from an uneasy slumber. He hadn't realised how tired he was. He would certainly value his sleep tonight. He stood up and stretched, feeling the bruising from his rough treatment earlier. He pressed around his stomach, lower back and ribs to assess the degree of damage he had sustained, and decided it was bruising only. Nevertheless, it was surprisingly painful and he sucked in his breath each time he pushed. His physical condition was not ideal for the fight he was about to start but he knew from experience that his body responded well when the adrenalin kicked in.  
  
He picked up his shirt from the floor and pulled it on just as the cell door swung open. He moved out onto the corridor and looked around him. Below him on the floor below, he could see other prisoners gathering. Several appeared to be looking at him and discussing him with fellow inmates. 'Reputations spread quickly in prisons', he thought and he subconsciously slid his right hand under his shirt and across his chest to the top of his right arm where he gingerly fingered the blistering surrounding his new tattoo. A young guard walked along Jack's line checking the prisoners in the high security wing. When he got to Jack he stopped. Jack withdrew his hand from his shirt and stared disdainfully at the guard.  
  
'Do your shirt up properly' the guard ordered and struck his stick sharply against Jack's upper arm, achieving a direct hit on the blistered skin under the shirt. Jack gasped in discomfort. His right hand moved automatically towards the site of the pain and he instinctively snatched the guard's wrist in his right hand as he was bringing the stick back to his side. He held the guard's wrist tightly and pulled his hand up so that the offending baton was positioned between them. Jack looked the guard in the eye.  
  
'Don't ever try that again sonny – not when you don't have your friends with you'  
  
The guard's eyes showed both fear and anger and Jack didn't doubt that he would get his revenge at some stage over the next month. But for now, Jack was the victor. He released the guard's wrist and finished buttoning his shirt as the guard moved away. After another minute, the line of prisoners was led down the iron staircase and out into the bright sun of the exercise yard.  
  
Jack squinted as he arrived outside. He would have liked to have taken half an hour to lie in the sun but he had business to attend to. He lit a cigarette and started to look around the yard, searching for the prisoners' unofficial leader – Carmichael. As it happened, he didn't need to start a fight. The fight came to him. Descriptions of Jack's initiation had spread throughout the prison and the incident moments before had sealed his fate. Jack was approached by Carmichael within minutes of his arrival in the yard. Jack saw a group of ten men walking towards him and he turned to face them. Carmichael walked to within a yard of Jack's position. The inmates with him formed a circle around the two men, preventing Jack's escape.  
  
Carmichael was an intimidating figure, significantly taller than Jack and several stone heavier. He had his hands in his pockets, attempting to look nonchalant. "I've heard all about you, Brent" he said, using Jack's assumed surname. "News travels fast in here. I'm just here to tell you what you need to know – just a few friendly words." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and tilted his head slightly to one side, waiting for Jack to respond.  
  
"Yeah – and what friendly words might those be?" Jack asked. His posture was casual but his body was tense, ready for action - the adrenalin he would need already pulsing through his body. His left hand held the cigarette to his lips. His right arm hung loosely by his side.  
  
"Just a couple of rules, Jack – can I call you Jack? First rule - I'm in charge around here. My rules are the ones that count. And the second rule – well it kinda goes with the first rule but I'll explain it to you - if you've got anything – anything at all – you share it with me and my buddies." Carmichael took his hand from his pocket and removed the cigarette from Jack's mouth.  
  
"You see Jack- that's just not nice, smoking a cigarette without offering me one is it?" And he put the cigarette in his own mouth and puffed the smoke back into Jack's face. His friends smiled, enjoying the show. Jack imagined this was a regular weekly entertainment at the prison – Carmichael getting to know the new boys. He turned his face away, not letting the smoke get into his eyes.  
  
Then he turned back and glared at Carmichael.  
  
"I'm not used to taking orders," he said "and I don't intent to start taking them from you while I'm in here. But I'm not fighting you and your buddies – so let's agree before we start – if I fight you and win – you'll leave me alone"  
  
"You would fight me?" Carmichael looked genuinely surprised. His hands were out of his pockets now and he pointed at Jack's chest and then his own to emphasize his astonishment at the confrontation. A heavy metal ring on his right hand glinted in the sun.  
  
More prisoners began gathering around- recognizing immediately that Jack had risen to the challenge.  
  
"Yes I would fight you. More fat than muscle in your frame I reckon," Jack suggested. Some of the onlookers grinned.  
  
Carmichael moved in immediately, landing a solid punch to Jack's stomach. It was a good solid blow and Jack stumbled backwards and slid awkwardly onto the dusty concrete. Carmichael was on top of him immediately, grabbing him by the neck of his shirt and smashing his big fist into Jack's face, the ring on his finger opening a jagged cut above Jack's left eye. Jack fell back heavily, the back of his head cracking against the ground. He could already feel warm blood trickling across his face from above his eye and he knew he had to get up quickly. He swung himself onto his hands and knees and jumped back up to his feet.  
  
The two men circled each other; Carmichael unhurt and still smiling; Jack's face already quite bloodied from the last punch. Jack made the next move, coming in low below Carmichael's flailing fists and landing three quick stomach punches which disoriented his opponent enough for Jack to be able to raise his right leg and kick him powerfully to the ground.  
  
The surrounding crowd became noisier, and Jack could see that bets were being placed on the fight.  
  
With Carmichael down, Jack kicked him again. As soon as Carmichael went down, Jack knew he could end the fight. Carmichael was too big to get up quickly and Jack's reflexes were much too quick for him. Carmichael landed a couple of bruising kicks from the ground but nothing likely to deter Jack.  
  
Jack wanted his victory to be total but he didn't want to kill Carmichael. So he threw his body onto Carmichael and, using the combination of weight and speed, spun the big man onto his stomach, putting one arm around his throat in a strangle hold and pinning the other across the back of his neck. To demonstrate his superiority he took a fistful of Carmichael's hair and pulled back his head. With his other hand he drew his hand theatrically across the exposed throat in a cutting motion to illustrate what he could have done.  
  
At that moment, the crowd parted and several prison guards appeared to break up the fight. 


End file.
